


Shoveling A Year

by venividivici



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, ziall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-16
Updated: 2014-02-16
Packaged: 2018-01-12 15:34:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1190427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/venividivici/pseuds/venividivici
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. When the unforgiving snow pulls together a boisterous adolescent too loud for society and a remote young adult too aloof for anyone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shoveling A Year

**Author's Note:**

> Semidrabble. Idk, it's snowing a lot over here.

 It's snowing heavily, more heavily than the month before, when Niall mentally suggests to shovel the front. He's sitting on his room window looking outside, wearing his favorite woven blue sweater with holes on the sleeves to poke his thumbs through. His fuzzy socks are orange, bordering on red, and he's holding a mug of hot chocolate in his hands. He doesn't even like the beverage with tiny floating marshmallows, but neither is he fond of the cold weather outside; but he's trying to indulge himself in the moment, because then it'll be spring and summer and he won't be able to enjoy a brisk wind if he wanted to. So he dumps out the rest of the lukewarm drink and wraps himself in layers of warmth, with a matching blue knit hat and gloves that leave the top half of his fingers visible, to go outside. Greg would be happy to come home and not have to do it, and since Niall's only seventeen with nothing to do all day but waste away in front of a hot laptop screen, why shouldn't he do it?  

He's halfway done, grunting out breaths that steam the air and constantly placing the same strand of bleached hair into his hat, when a silent companion comes and helps him shovel the rest. He's never seen him around before, and he doesn't even know where he came from, to be honest. But he's wearing a leather jacket with too many zippers, an accompanying red plaid scarf tied around his neck, and black jeans tucked into chunky combat boots. His hands are bare while he shovels, and his cheeks and mouth are too pink for his tan complexion; Niall thinks it's from the wind biting his face. He's pretty, really really pretty, and Niall could only see black hair and thick eyelashes that cover eyes from this view. He's like an Adonis, with classic beauty and chiseled features too pronounced to be ignored. "Thank you," Niall quietly says after a beat too long, gesturing towards the shoveled path. Adonis doesn't reply, just continues the task.  

"Um, thanks," he repeats louder. Only then does he realize Adonis heard him the first time, rather intent on ignoring him. So he grunts in annoyance and turns back to shoveling the already-clean spot. "Fine, then. Don't answer. Be that way," he grumbles loud enough, loud enough that it makes himself jump a little.  

Adonis just shovels the last bit and walks away.

*  

It's the neighbor's twentieth birthday, and Niall's over his and his boyfriend's house to celebrate when Adonis walks in.  

Niall's hugging Harry and pushing the gift he made himself into big hands when Louis walks into the room with someone. Harry's laughing at Niall's dramatic speech of how much time and love he put into the present when the curly-haired lad turns to them and exclaims, "Zayn!" with a smile. He's already across the room and hugging him when Niall turns and finds the leather-clad Greek god. "That's Adonis!" he says with a point in his direction. "That's the guy I was telling you about!" Louis furrows his eyebrows and laughs, patting Zayn on the shoulder and introducing them. He's telling Zayn _this is the Niall we were telling you about, remember, Zayn?_ And Zayn's still in midstep when he heard Niall's voice. Despite his tan skin, it doesn't take much for his face to burn under the scrutiny of Niall's stare; he's trying to decipher if it's a gaze or a glare when Niall stands up and makes his way over to him, hand extended. He forces himself to smile then, grasping the small hand and greeting the short boy with a nod.  

"Nice to meet you," he says. And Niall, curse the paleness that covers him, blushes violently, because Adonis is tall, and _too_ pretty; or gorgeous; or beautiful; or something, but he's way more intimidating this close. It's too close for comfort. "Zayn," Adonis informs, letting go of his hand and standing up straighter. Niall shakes his head of thoughts and leans on one leg, crossing his arms challengingly.  

"Oh, so now you talk, Adonis?" Zayn just cocks his head in bothered confusion, telling Niall his name is Zayn, but he just continues to call him Adonis.

*  

See, Zayn ignores Niall whenever they're together. So Niall continues to call him Adonis because it annoys him, and it's the only way he gets some kind of reaction from him.  

"You're pretty, you know that, Adonis?" Niall says. And he goes so far as to admit that Zayn is his current crush because he's _just so hot and mysterious and ay papi_ , he flirts, perfecting his Spanish accent. Zayn looks away and hopes his blush goes unnoticed, but then Niall is standing in front of him and pointing at the obvious redness, asking if he's blushing or just angry. He doesn't answer.  

Sometimes Zayn arrives on a motorcycle while Niall is on his windowsill, mindlessly strumming a new piece on the guitar Denise gave him. And before Zayn even fully takes off the red helmet, Niall is out the house with a beam on his face, saying he didn't know Adonis had a motorcycle; Zayn just looks away, doesn't respond, and goes over Harry and Louis'. It takes about ninety seconds to realize Niall didn't follow him, so when he looks out the living room window, he finds Niall sitting on his vehicle, looking down at the pedals and trying to figure out how to turn it on.  

"Why didn't you tell me you turned twenty-one?" Niall scolds Adonis one day, finding out the reason he was over on that snowy day was because Louis and Harry made him a birthday cake and forced him to come over. "I would've bought you something. Or made you a song," he continues to whine, ignoring Harry's distant complaint of _you didn't write me a song._ "Seriously, Adonis," he coos. "I would've written about your pretty gold eyes that put the sun to shame or your perfect sharp jawline that could slice wood in half or that flawless smolder you're wearing now that just makes me melt inside." And he bats his eyelashes heavily and holds his hands in a fist by his face in awe. Zayn doesn't reply, just turns red; Niall is still clueless if it's from embarrassment or rage.  

There's a day when Niall catches Adonis smoking on the porch, exhaling smoke into the pre-Spring air. Niall gasps, stomping over to him. "What are you doing, young man?" Zayn looks down at him, dragging smoke into his lungs before blowing it in the other direction, away from the angry boy in front of him. "Don't you know those things could kill you? That's carcinogenic. It takes approximately fifteen years after you quit for your body to go back to normal." Zayn doesn't blush this time, but looks towards the street and laughs. When Niall catches him smoking a few days later, he wastes no time in repeating his talk. "What? Not again! I thought we came to an agreement, Zaynie." Zayn blushes this time and turns to Louis who's in a chair, scrolling through Twitter.  

"Where did you find this guy?" he asks incredulously. Louis only chuckles in response.  

Harry has a polaroid camera that he takes with him almost everywhere. It's an unhealthy addiction, honestly, the number of pointless shots he takes in a row; and Louis' walking behind him while doing so, picking up the fallen strips of photos and complaining about having to buy new film in just a few days at this rate. He mostly takes pictures of Louis' pout, but sometimes he likes to take pictures of Niall because the Celtic kid is overly responsive and would pose in any way Harry tells him to. They're walking through the park, and as Harry turns the camera to point it at Niall, the boy runs and hugs Zayn, gazing up at him right when the shutter sounds. The resulting picture depicts them as a couple, the way Niall's clinging to him and Zayn is instinctly lifting his elbows up to shy the cigarette ashes from falling into bleached hair.  

"See?" Niall jokes, pushing the picture into Zayn's view. "I told you we make a nice couple. We're just perfect, I know it." Zayn's grumble is inaudible through Louis and Harry's laughter, and he grinds out his cigarette while Niall grabs the camera and takes a few shots of him. In total, for fear of wasting anymore film than Harry, he takes five. Zayn is smiling in the last one, like he was trying to contain it; his cheeks are bruising red.

*

 They become friends, or acquaintances. (More like Zayn practically babysits Niall because he's a baby and his brother is working and he shouldn't be home alone.) But Zayn doesn't mind; he tolerates it. Niall's sitting on the dining room table, concentrating on the assignment in front of him with the tip of his pink tongue poking out. He tells Zayn to help himself in the kitchen if he's hungry and the bathroom's on the second floor to the right, thinking the tall man's going to lounge on the sofa or leave in a few minutes since he's not being attentive. But Zayn drags the chair next to him and sits down, feet on the edge of the table as he looks down at the History paper in front of Niall. "What's that?" he asks.  

"Only the shittiest homework known to mankind," Niall grumbles, still trying to take apart the lengthy essay question. He groans and grunts and goes to leave when Zayn grips his forearm, still staring at the paper.  

"Where's the hard part?"  

"The words," Niall clips. It makes Zayn smirk, and he says this is his favorite subject, that he completed a similar task in high school. "The ancient times," Niall murmurs, clearly joking, but falters when Zayn looks at him. He stutters out he was joking, that it was utterly a joke and stupid. And Zayn laughs, says _haha, that was funny_. He doesn't leave until Niall's paper is done.  

All of Niall's acceptance letters from universities are sprawled on his room floor. The number is quite impressive, and it makes Zayn intrigued; he's walking aimlessly about the room, rubbing his chin while eyeing the multiple posters and magazine articles of football players and musicians on the walls. When he turns around, Niall's abandoned the tedious job of choosing and is instead on his phone, presumably Instagram, which Zayn is still trying to find the big deal of. It's funny, the look of disbelief and anger on Niall's face when he takes the phone away. And it's hilarious when Niall repeatedly tries to grasp it out of his elevated hand. "I will drop it," he threatens; he actually wouldn't, but Niall doesn't know that. (He'd buy him a new one, if anything.) So Niall flops to the ground, stubborn and laconic when Zayn asks him the basic questions like what does he want to do for a career, does he want to commute or stay on campus, does he like an urban or rural environment more. He does become more cooperative after a while because Zayn would not _fucking give up_ until he's down to at least three options.  

Two of the three are a close distance; Niall's not ready to move out yet. He wants to take Sound Engineering with a minor in Humanities because he wants to learn about the mind and photography and motion pictures and basically everything. Zayn listens to him babble about his dreams and how he wants to give back to Greg since he's taken the role of both parents that his failed at; he wants to reward Harry and Louis with an elaborate payed vacation because they've always been there for him when he came up with a new song at three in the morning or when they drove him to school and publicly implied a not-so-subtle threat if anyone picked on him; it was the year before when Niall came out, and as he tells the story to Zayn, the tan man just stares and listens in awe; or as close to it as possible since he doesn't remember the last time ever connecting to the feeling. He doesn't leave until Niall's told him who inspires him. (He finds out a few days later from Harry that the kid uploaded a picture of him on Instagram. ' _Isnt he jus handsome #Adonis #Nofilter_ ,' reads the caption; he tries not to smile and ends up crimson.)  

Niall is already idly playing on his guitar on the sofa when Zayn enters and sits on the farther side of the sofa, next to Niall's feet with red fuzzy socks. He says he knows the piece playing. "It's from. . . The Kooks, right?" he questions nervously. Niall's answering smile is an answer.  

"Yes! You know them! Thank goodness, I'm not the only one," he cheers.  

"Well, I only know _Sway_ , so. I don't think I can say I know them." At this, Niall grumbles, puts a forearm over his eyes and tells Zayn _you're killing me, you're just killing me here_. He doesn't leave until Niall's told him all he knows about the band, until Niall's patting his shoulder with an open smile and laughing at Zayn's attempt at reciting their names, until his brother gets home and clears his throat through their quiet discussion.  

"Hey, Ni," he greets, all faux amity. "Who's this?" Zayn gets up immediately, extending a hand.  

"My name's Zayn, sir. I'm Niall's. . . friend," he greets, unsure how else to put it.

"Greg," he informs. "Niall's older brother." The warning in his voice doesn't go unnoticed, neither does the firm handshake or the look in his eye when Zayn steps away.  

"Right," he nods, turns to Niall with a wave and says he'll see him next time. But before he's even out the door, he hears Greg warning Niall about who he spends time with, about stop being so damn naïve, about not hanging out with Zayn too much.

He's turning his car on when Niall comes outside, walking towards him. "Yeah?" he asks when he's close enough, putting the car in drive, turning on the head lights.  

"Don't act stupid, Zayn. I know you heard."  

"Well, what do you expect me to do about it?" He's heard older siblings and parents and friends all tell those associated with him the same thing. It doesn't bother him a lot; but sometimes it sinks its way under his skin, barely there, but present enough that it's an itch in the back of his mind for the duration of the night. "Huh?" he voices when Niall doesn't respond.  

"Just ignore him, or something. He says that to everyone I meet."  

"Doubt it," he responds, clearly done with the discussion. He drives away before Niall says anything else.

*

 It's almost summer.  

Zayn doesn't admit it's the truth when Niall prattles on about finally being _the bestest of friends ever_ , with a skip in his step and turned around to face Zayn, pointing and smirking the whole time; he just blushes and tries to hide it.  

Zayn doesn't grumble when Niall messes up his hair, with poking fingers that divide the silk strands into pieces and ruffles it all back into a mop of black, praising how thick and glossy and healthy it is; he just closes his eyes and tries not to hum.  

Zayn doesn't object when Niall asks him to try a piece of one of his culinary experiments (which is often since Zayn has practically everything in his kitchen), a mixture of spices and pasta and ground meat and the occasional salad since Zayn's a lean freak, always with a dallop of ketchup on the side; he just stabs a reasonable amount, stares out the window while Niall watches the jumping muscle in his jaw, and tells him what it's missing or if it's great; honestly, they kind of all are.  

He takes him out to the mall a lot because Niall is the generic teenager but doesn't have the friends to go out with. He lets him pick the film they watch and he makes sure to buy the largest popcorn because they'll eat the leftover during the other movie they sneak in. He takes him to the arcade and once even played Dance Revolution with him because the blonde boy wouldn't stop pouting or pulling lightly on the leather sleeve he admitted to liking. He takes him to the name brand clothing stores where all the _cool kids_ shop and doesn't leave until Niall's filled a cart. But the young boy sees the price on the tag and shies the item back on its rack, tiptoeing towards the clearance when he thinks Zayn's not looking, but he notices everything. He notices how the blue in his eyes lights up on a pair of jeans, but soon fades at the price. And Niall says _I don't think they'll fit, the seam's gonna break any day, I don't have clothes to go with this anyway_ , just to get out of Zayn's persistent nagging. Sometimes Zayn allows it, sometimes.  

When they leave the store, Zayn makes sure Niall is always next to him, practically touching him. He glares darkly at those who stare too long at them. He admits, it's an odd mix, with his inked skin, dark hair, dark eyes. And Niall's all bright clear features with bright bleached hair and bright crooked smiles and even brighter eyes, eyes that make people pause as they walk by. He puts a hand on his small waist sometimes, as if he's the lion in this part of the safari and he's staking his claim, keeping predators the _fuck away_ ; Niall tries to act unaffected, but _Zayn_ is touching _him_. He doesn't make it a big deal; they're friends, Zayn said so himself.  

They form a prank on Harry and order a dildo online, using Louis' name and their address. Notifying them it could arrive in four to six weeks, they spend the last two crammed in the corner of their friends' sofa. As patient as they can be, they just wait for the package to arrive, the box that's customarily brought with a message on the top saying _what you've been looking for that he doesn't have_. They don't giggle, they don't lean into each other, they don't blank out staring at the other; those are all lies from Harry and Louis who overanalyze too much for their own good. Louis does politely complain on the ninth day _why the fuck are you guys still here, don't you got some shit to do, fucking Christ_. But they make it up to him the next day with pastries they baked together.  

It arrives on the twelfth day, Zayn and Niall are playing a serious game of Jenga while Harry's cooking in the kitchen. Louis retrieves it, and they notice when Louis' eyes bulge out of their sockets from the public note. Niall bursts into laughter right then, making Zayn flinch and knock down the tower; Louis' too preoccupied to notice. Harry comes in then, asking always so softly _babe, what is that?_ "Nothing, it's nothing-- what?" he gapes again at the opened cardboard box. Niall's _losing_ it, burying his face into the cushion to silence his chortles.  

"What's that?" Harry repeats, walking towards him, and only then does Zayn turn away and shake silently, biting down on his bottom lip. It should've been recorded, the whole scene. The way Harry finally _finally_ snatches the box away with a scowl and holds Louis away with one hand, face contorting into confusion when he reads the box. Louis' repeating he doesn't know where that came from, that he never ordered such a thing, that it's all fucking crazy. And Harry turns to him slowly, not believing him. A gasp of air breaks the silence as Niall breathes in to laugh obnoxiously out loud, to the point Zayn's worried he'll pop a vessel with the way a vein is etched down his forehead and he's red, clapping his hands and mouthing out silent words to the couple. Golden, is the only way Zayn can think to describe the moment.  

They're at Zayn's flat, and since Niall's sick with a runny nose and a cough, he's staying over because Theo is still a newborn; Harry and Louis offered to take him, but Zayn insisted, saying he bought a new football game he hasn't tried yet. (He actually lied, though. But bought the game when Niall fell asleep in the car ride over.) It's barely five in the afternoon and Niall's fighting exhaustion when Zayn comes into the living room with a steaming cup in his hand. He hands it over with placing the duvet more across Niall's shoulder. "Drink," he orders.  

"What's this?" Niall croaks, sitting up to sniff the concoction in the cup. It's a mixture of herbs and creams morphed into tea. "Aw, you made this for me, Zaynie?" he pathetically coos; Zayn rolls his eyes towards the screen in front of them, blushing hotly. He turns back to see Niall blow against the surface, cooling it off. His bottom lip, baby pink and chapped, is pressed against the cup as he continues before taking a smooth sip. Zayn doesn't look away when he licks his lips of the substance, but smiles when Niall comments on the taste and thanks him.  

Niall meets Zayn's flatmates: a tall, young man about Zayn's age with short, brown hair and a tan pretty girl with long curly hair. They're nice, and they're Zayn's best friends.  

He meets Liam first and eyes him suspiciously. "Are you gay? Or bi?" he blurts out without preamble. Liam chokes on his tongue for a second before he composes himself.  

"Excuse me? No! My girlfriend lives here with us."  

"So you and Zayn never had a thing? Or you're not attracted to him?" Liam looks over at Zayn from across the room who's already walking briskly towards them, trying to stop the conversation.  

"No, sir. I'm straight."  

"Well, good," Niall sighs contently, laying back down on the sofa. "You're not a threat to me now. You see, Zayn and I are together and we're very serious about each other so--"  

"Niall, don't lie to the big man," Zayn warns through teeth with a tight smile, sitting down next to him and gripping his ankle in a scolding manner.  

"But I'm not lying, my lovely purple butterfly," he starts, diving into a heartfelt soliloquy of their undying love and fidelity towards each other. Zayn tries, he really really tries not to turn red, but it's difficult when Niall keeps talking and Liam's laughing behind his fist.  

He meets Danielle the next morning, and they both grow fond of him immediately. They buy him things when they travel (which is _all_ the _time_ ), like guitar keychains and foreign CDs that are on discount. They text him every other day when they're away, asking him how is Zayn doing with an empty flat and to find undiscovered blackmail on him. They like him, and Zayn realizes this when he sometimes walks in on them scratching his hair, behind his ears, over the nape of his neck; Niall just hums through it all. And Zayn gets. . .kind of bothered, or angry. Because that's their thing, and only he does that to Niall, and only Niall does that to him.  

It's the middle of July, Zayn's washing dishes in the kitchen with Liam when Louis gasps from behind them, and he does _not_ expect to turn around and find Niall glaring at the floor as he makes his way to the fridge, hair a pale purple. "What the fuck?" he exclaims, almost forgetting to turn off the faucet. Niall's pointing at Harry, saying he cheated, that the curly faggot was hearing Morning Parade the day before and thought the bet was off; clearly, it wasn't, and since Harry managed to grab his phone and notice _Blue Winter_ was the last song playing, he lost and had to sit in a torturous attempt of Harry dyeing his hair; a bit pitiful, actually. "Hey," Zayn tries to reason, tries not to laugh, tries to shrug his shoulders apathetically. Tries. "It doen't look that bad."  

"You shut the fuck up and walk around like this for a few days, then come talk to me." Louis and Harry burst into snotty chortles, and even Liam's attempting an unfazed look, but the corner of his lips are quivering. And Zayn sees the look on Niall's face; it's apparent they're laughing _with_ him instead of at him, but the look on the small boy isn't convinced. He blinks and walks away, and Zayn finds him in the bright bathroom, looking at his hair in different angles. "Greg's gonna kill me," he groans when Zayn's face appears on top of his in the mirror.  

"It's not that bad. It has..." he struggles, until Niall cuts him off and says it has Harry and homosexual symbolism written all over it. Zayn informs Niall that he is gay, anyway, that an occasional cliche isn't scary. And when he tells Niall it was a stupid bet and stifles a laugh at Niall's deadpan look, it doesn't take that long for the boy to join. The boys praise him for the rest of the night, feeding him food and picking him up to escort him into the living room even after Niall's repeated statement that _this is getting fucking annoying, guys, seriously. I can do shit on my own_. Harry makes him a flower crown in apology, faux roses of cream and green. Zayn is in love with the way it looks against the violet strands.  

He tries, he tries _constantly_ to stop smoking. Breaking a habit that took years to develop is hard in a few weeks. And he goes days without one, keeps the tapping of his foot to a minimum, tries to will his twitching unseen. But then he realizes he fails when a fag is hanging out his mouth, smoke drifting from the end. He tells people he's stopping for himself; in actuality, he's stopping for the Irish boy who would not stop protesting. He doesn't mind anymore, it's for his health anyway. But Niall is with him constantly, and he'll be damned if he's the cause of some illness casted over the blue-eyed kid. The smile on Niall's face when he flatly says _day_ _3_ , or _week 2_ is so fucking worth it, anyway; it's big on his face and his crooked teeth are bright and his eyes crinkle. And when Niall finds him hiding behind a diner or park smoking, the boy beams sadly, tells Zayn it's okay, he tried, _you went fifteen days, Zayn. Be proud of that_. Zayn doesn't know why the young boy isn't enough to stop. But he thinks if he spends enough time with him, he soon will be.  

Everyone paying attention can tell Zayn likes Niall, it's evident, it's _so_ fucking obvious. But Niall _is_ naïve, and blind, and innocent, and he doesn't know; he doesn't have a clue, he doesn't notice a thing. He doesn't notice _Zayn_ noticing _him_.  

Zayn notices the way he absently twirls a piece of his black, ungelled hair while they watch film after film, the way blue eyes are plastered onto the screen in concentration and the way he nibbles on his bottom lip during suspense. They watch _Gladiator_ one humid afternoon, and Niall's chewing his fingernails away, eyes glued to the screen and shimmering with emotion, not looking away or responding when Zayn asks him what he wants from the pizzeria. At the end, he just lays there and dwells on the movie because Zayn realizes he does that a lot, too. If the movie's monumental or precisely effective, he goes over it in his head for a long time, only speaks if it ties back to the film. Zayn's coming through the door with their food when he hears Niall playing a melody, and it's blatantly _Now We Are Free_. He stops at the door suddenly, wonders how in the world did the blond learn so quickly; it's kind of hot, if he's honest.  

He catches the blonde boy playing DS on his bathroom floor, laying on his stomach and propping his elbows against the ground. He tells Zayn it's because the bathroom's a private and intimate place where you're less likely to be bothered. "No one bothers me here," he smiles, turning back to his game. Zayn goes to leave but soon finds himself with a Tolkien paperback, idly flipping through with his feet hanging over the tub.  

He notices the way Niall's eyelashes flutter in his sleep, the way his eyes dart in different directions while he's dreaming behind pale eyelids. Niall wakes up slowly when Zayn tells him to go upstairs and sleep in the guestroom: his mouth opens in a puff of air and he slowly blinks awake, looking up at Zayn to reveal vulnerable blue eyes, too exposed and bright in the faint light.  

He notices how Niall's easily annoyed, and it's comical sometimes. The cord of Niall's laptop would get stuck between the strap of his bag, and he'd simply cut the strap when it wasn't being obedient because, well, fuck you, strap. He gets frustrated when a software doesn't respond, and he repeatedly and harshly _pounds_ the mouse until the open window closes, resulting in all the windows with the close shutter behind it to close. And the aftermath is bordering between hilarious and disturbing with how agitated Niall gets. It's also intriguing, because Zayn never thought such negative emotions could ever tie to Niall; he thinks Niall exists on this platform impenetrable to such actions, but he actually does in fact get affected by simple things like that. It may make him more alluring.  

He notices the way Niall's always covering himself with a shirt or a sweater, something to cover his freckles because if there's one thing Zayn pays attention to, it's the way Niall slightly cringes when someone mentions them. He thinks they're a flaw, or ugly marks burned into his skin, there for everyone to see and emphasize and mock. Zayn _knows_ they each have an aesthetic purpose on the pale skin, and if he pays attention to one for long, he thinks it might tell him with all its unshaded glory as his eyes gaze over the pretty blemish. He doesn't say a thing about it, and it's not like Niall picks up on it, but he _loves_ them. He loves, loves, and _cherishes_ them. He tries to optically discover if he was born with all of them or if more appeared over time. He wonders if it was hereditary or something just Niall. He happily wastes moment after moment just counting them and recounting them and wondering how many more are under the layers of clothes.  

Zayn's smart and pays attention in class; he likes to learn. And he knows since the beginning of time men were born with this trait to _divide and conquer. Divide and conquer. Divide and conquer._ It's in their blood. And all he really wants is to see how dawn etches itself across Niall's face when he wakes up; how the yellow light passes over the glazed blue of his irises, just for one morning.

*

 Niall's eighteenth birthday is in a week, and it's a big deal. He tells him one day while they're laying next to a pond out of town, out of sight, out of the public eye. _In America, you're considered a legal adult now_ , he says, _though you can't drink yet, which is stupid as fuck_. His head is elevated with forearms crossed over each other, and he's looking at Niall sitting next to his hips, pulling at the grass by his feet. Niall shrugs.  

"It's just any other day, really. Nothing to make it a big deal," he smiles at him. And Zayn denies, and objects, and _makes_ it a big deal. So he hosts a party at his flat, which is scary because Liam and Danielle moved out the month prior with a baby on the way, and here he is, planning something he's not overly fond of himself. He invites all of Niall's family, whom he never met before; and he invites the little people who only ever exchanged a few words with Niall.  

He's nervous, is the thing, when the day arrives. It's getting packed quickly, it's too noisy and overcrowded with people pushing and shoving each way, and he's never been good with people, anyway. But he never saw Niall so happy and vibrant with attention, a major thing the young boy was lacking. He's never attended a party like this, unless it was over Harry and Louis' with cheap beer and stale crisps. And he's absolutely glowing under the lights and Zayn would let this last forever if he could because it's all so fucking worth it. Niall keeps a firm grip on the sleeve of his leather jacket all throughout the night, introducing him to a new face every few steps. And Zayn takes the opportunity between the greetings to fix the flower crown askew on his head. Harry made it for him, and it's the only one with gold flowers strewn amidst the reds and blues and purples of the other roses. The helpful gesture only makes Niall smile bigger.  

People leave around nine, because his birthday didn't fall on the weekend. And Niall catches Zayn talking privately with Greg, their backs turned to everyone. He's throwing away the last plastic cup when Zayn comes over to him. The house is empty, and Zayn asks him if he wants to go to an actual party with actual alcohol and actual music because _I know I'm shitty at hosting parties_.  

"This was absolutely incredible, Z. Don't put yourself down, but I have to go home tonight. Did my brother already leave?" And Zayn tells him yes, that he already talked to him, that it took a lot of effort and self-discipline and weeks of mastering a steady look to perfect his persuasion skills. Zayn tells him his brother knows he has Niall, that it's only because he wants to experience Niall's first party with him because; and Zayn just shrugs in conclusion, unable to voice that he just wants to watch over him at the party and he wants to make sure he gets back to a safe home and he wants to make sure no one sneaks roofies into his drink because there are some shitty people in the world and damn anyone who tries any shit on Niall.  

The party is dark where Zayn's was filled with light. It's a bit scary, to be honest. You can't really tell where you're going until you bump into someone, but Zayn knows where to go and he keeps a firm hand on Niall's small back, ushering him through the crowd. He buys Niall something fruity, making the blond grumble and pout about being an adult. But he complains after he takes a drink, and the remnants of the drink are staining his pouty lips. In all honesty, Niall's making a fool out of himself, but it's more endearing and amusing than it is embarrassing and cautious. He's louder than usual and laughs when Zayn guides a drink away from his prawning hands. He's not drunk yet, but he's really tipsy. Tipsy enough to not be intimidated by his surroundings, tipsy enough to dance shamelessly in front of everyone, tipsy enough to pull Zayn with him towards the dancefloor.  

Zayn doesn't dance, Niall knows this. But he also knows Zayn doesn't dance in front of _people_ , and that he's actually okay at it. But he doesn't know why Zayn suddenly gets nervous in front of him. "Zayn," he whimpers, trying to move to the beat of whatever song is playing. "Dance with me, please? It's my birthday." Zayn timidly starts to sway, looking down at the floor between them, but making it obvious that Niall's with him when people get too close. Niall sighs in exasperation soon, lacing his fingers behind Zayn's neck and staring up at him from beneath lashes. His eyes are too bright for the place, too bright for the people around him. And Zayn's starting to think it was a bad idea to bring him because people are around and Niall's looking up at him kind of darkly. . .almost expectantly. His hands softly press against Niall's ribcage, tapping to the beat, letting Niall know he's slightly cooperating, not up for whatever the fuck is going on through the boy's mind.  

Niall only looks away to turn around and press himself against Zayn; and Zayn _knows_ him, he knows him. And he knows Niall's going to blame the alcohol and the proximity of everyone. Not here, he's thinking. Not ever, because when it comes to Niall, he takes as much as he can; he knows he won't be able to stop himself. Niall's arms are still around his neck, gripping tighter and he's rubbing up on Zayn and Zayn cannot _take_ it. His hands immediately grip Niall's behind his neck, stopping him, warning him. And it only makes Niall shift his hips back, right _there_. " _Niall_ ," he says, and it's loud enough to stop a couple next to them.  

" _What_?" the blond retorts, abruptly turning around. Then they stop moving, and they stare at each other. It takes Niall putting a hand on his pale forehead for Zayn to react. He asks what's wrong, feels Niall's pulse because the young boy is furrowing his eyebrows like he has a headache. So that's what he says, he has a headache and he's laughing a little bit, asking to go home. Zayn only nods because he's suddenly choking on his tongue. He goes to grab the birthday boy's wrist to steer them out, but the blond laces their fingers instead, palm hot and squeezing Zayn's. It makes the man walk quicker, maneuvering through the crowd that Niall has to follow faster. It's scaring him, is the problem, what Niall's doing and what he does to him daily. What Niall does to him is scary.  

Niall's headache vanishes surprisingly when they get to Zayn's. It's quiet, and the evidence of the party is still strewn around. Zayn tells him to make himself comfortable, like he always does. He watches Niall enter the guest bathroom, and only moves when he hears the running water of the shower. It's quiet, while Zayn showers in his bathroom. It's quiet and the cold water is cocooning and numbing him but he's not numb enough to not feel the thumping of his heart. He _feels_ it, the vibration in his ribcage, the jumping pulse in his wrist and neck, the drowning in his ears. He feels and hears and sees it all; but it's not enough to drown out the feeling of Niall. And Niall's probably already asleep but the Bradford young man still feels him everywhere, and he's always felt him since that day he helped shovel the snow. And he's in love with an angel; he's in fucking _love_ with him and he doesn't want to be. He doesn't want to be the one to ruin him. Zayn's a simple guy. He understands life's a bitch and he doesn't dwell on his mistakes. He's learned to let things go and it doesn't phase him. But Niall's phased every part of him that he can think of. And he doesn't want to let go. He wonders why did he ever help the kid in the snow and he wonders why didn't he respond to his gratitude. And he thinks maybe some unknown deity or force _knew_ what was going to happen, and tried its best to save him, to stop this feeling of something overconsuming and Zayn doesn't like it. Good things don't happen to him. He's fine with that; he's great with that. So he doesn't know how Niall ever happened to him.  

He finds Niall already laying down in the room that's practically his now. His hair is still dripping water on his pillow and his eyes are clear in the lamplight as he looks up at Zayn who sits himself on the edge of the bed. "How was your birthday?" he asks softly, smiling and pushing Niall's hair back. Niall says it was great, that it was only great because of him. Zayn swallows and smiles; that's all he's able to do. His room is welcoming when he enters, with cool sheets and a novel on his nightstand just waiting for him to pick up, but he can't bring himself to move besides to take off his shirt and fall against his back on the mattress. It's coming, he knows it; he's not surprised when a knock emits through the room. "Yeah?" he asks.

"I can't sleep." Zayn tries to chuckle (tries), picks his head up and says _well, ain't that a bitch_. Niall looks away nervously, shifts his leg and mutters, "It's still my birthday."  

"Niall," Zayn warns when the boy makes his way over to the bed. "Niall, get out." _It's still my birthday_ , he repeats, looks down at the bed before he looks at Zayn. And Zayn sees that he's trying so hard to be nonchalant; to be insouciant; but he's failing because his eyes are too big and the blue is bordering on silver and his cheeks are flaring obscenely. "Niall," he whispers. It's more a plea than a warning now. "Please." And that's what Niall says. _Please, Zayn._ His plump mouth isn't smiling. _Please, just this once. I won't ask again. It's my birthday_. Zayn's trying. Life is hard for him and everything brings him down, but he's never tried so hard to resist. _Zayn, come on. I'm here, and. I want it to be you. I know I'm not your type, but I wanted this for a long time._ Zayn's breaking, he knows it. And for once, Niall knows it, too. _I don't want my first to be someone else._  

It surprises Zayn that he himself is the one to go to Niall. It surprises him how easily his mouth immediately latches onto the young boy's in front of him. It surprises him how his body suddenly feels loose, like it was wired too tight and compressed for too long. It doesn't surprise him how inexperienced Niall is, with the way he doesn't know what to do with his tongue when Zayn flicks it with his, with the way his hands timidly stay on Zayn's shoulder, unsure where else he's able to touch, with the way he jolts when Zayn lightly bites his bottom lip, baby pink and chapped; but Zayn wouldn't have it any other way. He doesn't _want_ it another way. Niall doesn't know what to do, but he's responsive, always has been. He lets Zayn move hands all over his body and he makes noises when he feels him mouthing at his throat, his shoulder, his earlobe. He finds himself laying down on the bed with Zayn by his feet; they're both out of breath. "What do you want?" Zayn huffs, unsure how to proceed, unsure how far Niall's willing to go. Niall breathes _everything. Everything you're able to give me_. Zayn wishes, he wishes and prays he's all Niall wants for the moment; he prays he has everything Niall's looking for.  

Niall's naked in front of him; he took his time shedding the young boy of his clothes. He tries to count the freckles he's been dying to see but gets distracted when Niall opens his legs in front of him. And he's at a loss of words. _You're_..., he thinks, or says. He tries again, but doesn't know how to finish it. Zayn's an avid reader, he spends time looking up words he doesn't know and repeats them in his head for remembrance. He can easily sound like the smartest person in the room with his vast knowledge of vocabulary; but he's literally at a loss of words. He cannot, and will never be able to find the words to describe how radiant Niall is in front of him.  

"What?" Niall laughs when Zayn's been staring too long. "Everyone has an ass, you know." _But not everyone is you_ , is stuck in his throat. He takes his time, throughout everything. He takes his time with spreading enough lube down Niall's crevice and his fingers; he takes his time fingering him until Niall's gasping, begging him to stop because he doesn't want to come this way; Niall never did anything like this and doesn't want to come before it even started. Zayn takes his time lathering himself, watching Niall's face as the blonde boy watches a tan hand move across his tan dick, big enough to intimidate, but Niall's more in awe than afraid. And most of all, he takes his time entering him, still not looking away as Niall gazes up at him. His eyes stay locked to Niall's, the way they grow a bit bigger with each inch inside. It's. . . God, it's everything. Zayn feels it everywhere; he's had multiple partners and even multiple at once, but no one's ever made him feel wrapped up and drenched in such a powerful feeling. He asks Niall if he's okay, and it's barely audible but Niall nods quickly, doesn't look away. He can't help it, after a while, when his eyes close, because it's so good. It doesn't _feel_ good; it _is_ good, in the truest extent of the word. Pale hands roam over tattoos, and Niall watches Zayn close his eyes tightly, watches his abdomen tighten and tense as hips roll into him in a too steady pace, watches the veins and muscles moving in tan biceps propped next to his head; all he could think is that he's lucky, he's so lucky to know Zayn, to _know_ him, not just know of him, let alone is he his first. And Zayn's overwhelming, way more than Niall wanted, way more than he could handle, but he doesn't want anyone else. It's ultimately and without a doubt drastically wonderful; it's brutally perfect, in every shape and color of it. Zayn's slow, because he doesn't forget about Niall, can't forget about Niall. And it's worth it when the young boy comes with a short cry, biting his tongue when he drowns in the pleasure.  

Zayn comes after and pulls out. And as they stay there catching their breath and willing their heart rate to return to normal, Niall starts laughing; it's the contagious kind, hard to deflect, and Zayn's laughing along with him, subconsciously leaning down to kiss the blonde boy for a little, because he wants to, because it's reasonable at the moment, because he doesn't know when he'll do it again. He lays down next to him soon, and they talk, and talk, and it's late, so they continue talking until Niall leans over to kiss him. But Niall's biting his lip soon and shifting his already sore body up against him. _I wanna go again_ , the blue in his eyes are saying. And Zayn verbally says no. "I wanna fuck this time," the blond blurts out anyway. He's never had sex before, but he knows the difference.  

Zayn's scared through the second time, because he can't tell if Niall's in pain or pleasure but the boy asks for _more_ , and demands _harder_ , and moans _right there_ repeatedly; and all he's able to do is obey, obey, obey. Zayn's hips are sore and screaming from the relentless drag and push they're performing to satisfy Niall. And this time, Niall's eyes are closed and Zayn's only able to see the flutter of pale eyelids and pale pink lips forming silent words over and over again. Zayn comes first this time, and Niall _feels_ it, the sudden heavy warmth inside of him; and his eyes fly open to lock with Zayn's. Hazel grips blue for the moment, and Niall shatters a second time, throwing his head back and gaping his mouth open. The blond is drained, Zayn knows this. And as he strokes Niall through his orgasm, the young boy falls asleep slowly, tries to keep his grip on Zayn's shoulder.  

Niall wakes up first. He has a headache from the bright room instead of a hangover, and he's in pain because of sex. Good sex, the kind you never forget about, or maybe it's just him; it was his first time and all. Zayn's asleep next to him, back bare to the room and the hips down covered by a thin sheet. His skin is cold, so Niall puts the blanket he was using over his shoulders and gets out of bed. He's dressed and walking out the door, a satisfying vague limp in his step, and he still doesn't believe it happened. He texts him when he's home. _Had a great time, hope to see you later xx_. Zayn's reply will be the proof he needs that it all actually happened.

*

 He doesn't reply. Not when Niall texts him a second time, not when Niall calls him and it goes straight to voicemail, not when Harry and Louis tell him they gave the tan man the message. And he feels pathetic, utterly pathetic. He feels like shit. And it makes him question everything, because if he meant that little to him, surely he's just wasting everyone's time. So he distances himself from Louis and Harry; not only do they _know_ what's going on because one look at Niall and you read everything on his face. But because he's shitty, and pathetic, and so so _so_ just fucking _humiliated_. And he only has himself to blame and it's not like the man led him on, because this was all Niall. Yes, he went along with it and maybe enjoyed it himself, but at the end of the day, it all falls on Niall. So he distances himself from Greg because his brother's one step away from finding out what's going on and he hopes he never finds out; he could already hear his brother's disappointed sigh of breath, his disappointed look of shame and _I told you so_. And Niall doesn't need that. He really does not need that.  

University started, and it's. . .occupying, which is what he needs. And people like him, which is _weird_. And he questions peoples' motives because he thought someone liked him before and now Niall's all fucked up in the head, more fucked up than he was before. He makes friends anyway, only giving what he doesn't need back. And he's well-known and bordering on popular and he's asked to perform at a lot of gigs and all he could think about is the tan man's fond eye roll when he finds out; if he would've found out. It's barely a month in when he finds himself hanging out with the same four guys; they all came from the same country and they have the same accent and they're _musicians_ and Niall's on Cloud 9, he forces himself to be. But he admits, it doesn't take a lot to not think about Greg, or Louis and Harry, or even him. And he's not ready to forget, might not ever be, but he's come to terms with himself that it is what it is.

Niall doesn't love, he always likes. He likes with all his heart, and when it doesn't work in his favor or the guy doesn't requite, he still feels it; a foreign space in his torso that's either too hot or too cold. Like when he told Sean he liked him and his best friend at the time slowly and apologetically drifted away; it affected him, more than it should've at eleven years old. Or when he was dared to kiss his crush on the football team, and he did, knowing it was a joke, knowing the green-eyed boy was straight and not interested, at _all_ ; he did it and felt trashy and wasted, the bad kind, where it's hard to look in the mirror for a few days and nothing appeals to you. He was sixteen when he came out, in hopes he wasn't alone, in hopes the boy who always snuck glances behind his thick-framed glasses would just _say_ something because they moved around each other since the beginning of the school year, and the tickly feeling in Niall's stomach was overwhelming and kind of good; good until Alec ignored him after that, not even sparing him his presence at times. Niall doesn't love, he likes. And he still ends up confused and left with a shitty excuse of a heart.  

And then he came around, and Niall only liked, remember. He liked him. _I like him_ , he kept telling himself. _I like him_ , he said in his head when he ran pale fingers through black hair. _I like him_ , he thought when he blushed under Niall's constant confessions. _I like him_ , he said out loud when Louis laughed at him trying to untangle himself from Niall's arms. _I like him_ , he laughed when Harry joked of what the blond saw in a guy like that. _I like him_ , he argued when Greg ordered him to stay home because his brother does _not_ like him.  

 _I like him_ , was a constant phrase in his mind. Because it's true; he liked him. And _he_ knew, too, or ignored, but Niall didn't care because it's impossible for anyone to not be attracted to him or his eyes that just fucking _scare_ you at times with their depth. And the thing that makes Niall laugh is that he never even tried to be intimidating or collected or downright impressive; that was all just him and maybe Niall liked that, too. And even Louis and Harry didn't worry because Niall's been like that lately; he likes, he likes quickly, he gets over just as fast. It happened with the handsome cashier at FYE Niall dubbed Cash because the natural-blond didn't have a nametag. It happened to Harry's friend who used to visit often and Niall was unabashed with letting the Joseph Gordon-Levitt-look alike know he was attracted to him. It happened with Caleb Followill, with substantial bass skills and a settled voice. It happened with Jeremy Sumpter, with a smile that could rival Niall's and penetrable grey eyes.  

Niall looks out the backyard window and doesn't realize he's playing _Soldier On_ until Denise comes in the room and asks him if he wants to talk, and Niall smiles _no, thanks_ , all the time. The drummer at school talks to him constantly and Niall doesn't realize the guy's trying to _get to know him_ until Calum flicks him in the head and says _fuck's your problem, mate, you have a fit guy trying to take you out._ He takes a side job at a grocery store and gets fired two weeks later because he accidentally didn't count the money correctly or was giving customers the wrong amount. He presents a PowerPoint in Creative Writing and doesn't realize he completed a project that wasn't due for another month until the professor stops him midsentence and talks to him after class. Luke forces him to go shopping and he's blasting HAIM because they're the only ones keeping him upbeat and he doesn't realize Luke was talking until he spots a Boyce Avenue graphic t-shirt and blurts out, "He'd love that." Luke gives him a perplexed look.  

On a drunken night with Ashton, Michael, Luke and Calum, he confesses about Zayn, says his name for the first time in weeks. And they tell him some people just like to see others hurt. They tell Niall he's not to blame, because he is _not_ , he's not the one that made Zayn leave. They tell him that there are sad people out there, and they waste their days screwing others over, that some people _like_ to see others in pain. And Niall can't really categorize such people with Zayn, but learns to soon. And it still hurts, it bloody _hurts_ , and if someone asks him, it's still hard to lie about it, but he's fine; he's okay. _I'm okay_ , he laughs when Michael gives him that sympathetic look because Niall zones out for too long. _I'm okay,_ he retorts when Greg offers to do his dish, though it's clearly his turn to wash them. _I'm okay_ , he sighs when he notices Luke and Calum trying to keep their touching to a minimum in front of him. _I'm okay_ , he tells himself when he looks at the selfie he took, debating on whether to upload it or not. _I'm okay_ , he writes in the caption.  

 _I'm okay_.

*  

The guys force him to attend this new pub near campus. It's dim when they enter, someone's already onstage. And with a few pointers and persuasive gestures, the four go up to perform. They're eccentric, and Niall's itching to grab a guitar and play also. They're great! And he keeps in mind that they can one day up and go, but he doesn't mind. Because they won't hurt him and they'll travel to be big and everyone will know them and he'll listen to their songs and spread the word about them himself. It's lively, the atmosphere and the people and the music. It's great and Niall allows himself to get lost in it because it's worth it and he couldn't resist if he wanted to. They finish with a roar of applause, and Calum winks and says _free drinks are appreciated_. It causes laughter, and the guys are already walking towards Niall when he spots Liam.  

It's Liam, with facial hair, all alone. Liam doesn't expect to see Niall, just came over to congratulate the guys. But he catches his eyes trained on him and smiles shyly. Niall could cry, because Liam knows, of course he does. Of fucking course. "Liam!" he greets anyway, runs over to hug him because, well, he missed him, fuck off. They talk for a bit, he finds out Danielle's out with a best friend for the night and Liam learns that he goes to the school up the block. But they don't mention Zayn. Niall's thankful.  

They stay to see a short, redhead sing a song. And it's different than the rest; softer, meaningful. Niall knows his name from around; he's blatantly talented. His voice is singing about traveling the world with his lover, but at the end of the day, he could be anywhere, no matter how grand or insignificant the place is, and as long as his lover's with him, it's great. And it's sad, how accurate it is.  

At the end, everything's great and Niall's wasted, the good kind, when they leave. It's dark, thank goodness there's no class tomorrow, and Niall's laughing obnoxiously. The kind of laugh that the chortles jump over each other and he claps repeatedly; the kind that has a vein etched down his forehead and he's red and squinty-eyed; the kind that draws attention. And when he turns around towards the guys trailing after him, Zayn's standing by the wall behind them. He's not drunk enough for this; he thinks if he had drank the shot Calum offered, he would be. Just one more drop of alcohol and he had walked his way over to the man, just one more drop; but they only make eye contact for three seconds before Ashton throws an arm over his shoulder and escorts him away. He only grasps that Zayn had a cigarette in his mouth.

*  

Niall admits to himself he might be in love with Zayn when he's performing onstage, releasing frustration into the chords. Jake asks him if he can play _Last Resort_ and he immediately says yes; he likes Papa Roach and loves that melody personally, so it all works out. It's not the crowd cheering with Jake that makes him vulnerable; neither is it the blinding flashing lights or the strain in his callused fingers as he strums a bit too roughly than normal. It's not even because he's drenched in sweat and his face is contorted into concentration and he's screaming along with the singer at the right part; it's fucking everthing. It's fucking everything, and when the opening verse comes on a second time, he's supposed to go slow with the beat, but his hands are taking control and his brain is squished under the feet of the crowd and he doesn't feel his body until a drop of sweat drips down his chest; it gives him a central point as he picks at the last strings, the ring emitting through the room and piercing through the screams. And this is what he's always wanted, to perform and lose himself in the music and have people screaming at him for an encore; they're giving him that, they're giving him all that and more. But it's annoying him and he just wants to leave because Zayn might've been here seeing him at some point, and he might've enjoyed it, and that would've make everything worth it. Niall admits to himself he might be in love with Zayn in a scream that gets lost in the people.  

He didn't know Zayn had such an affect on him personally. It boggles his mind on some nights he lays down in bed, listening to Ólafur Arnalds. (Zayn introduced him to the Icelandic composer; and he doesn't listen to him to feel closer to Zayn, because he could stand right next to the tan man everyday, and he'd feel like a cold stranger.) He takes out dinner from the stove and the thought catches him off guard, almost making him drop the baked meal. Because Zayn is everywhere.  

Zayn's on his guitar because one day as pale fingers played a silly tune, tan fingers placed a sticker on its frame. The sticker's a green square with a rat caught in a mousetrap; Niall has no idea where he got it but still has it there. Zayn's in his chest-closet because he goes to put on sneakers and forgets when he opens the door that the pair Zayn bought him, a pair Niall's pined over months prior meeting the Bradford man, greets him right there; he doesn't think to move it. Zayn's in his school bag because he grabs a notebook to jot down notes and the man's pointless doodles are etched across each of the covers, even the insides and the back cover. Zayn's in the shower because Niall remembers the day he ran into the bathroom and pulled away the drapes to scare the hazel-eyed man, and he found himself on the floor crying of laughter because he didn't expect to find a blue showercap placed over the black strands. Zayn's in the concert he goes to when it gets too crowded as he leaves because the last time they went together, he was accidentally shoved and dropped to the ground, and when Zayn lifted him up and drowned the parking lot in profanity towards the one responsible, it was difficult trying to calm him down again; and it was awkward when they got to Zayn's that night, too, but he cleansed the scratches on Niall's shoulders and told him he wasn't mad at him, that there was no reason to be scared. Zayn's in the fair-haired woman that has class with him because he remembers the day Zayn brought over a beautiful female with platinum blonde hair, tied in a messy bun with eyes a pale blue; she stuck to Zayn's side that whole day, and Niall didn't say anything, just looked away. And when the next day came and he asked without thinking _where's your girlfriend_?, Zayn just stared at him for a moment, eyes squinting in the artificial light, asked _what girlfriend_ , and put an arm over his shoulders, dragging him down the candy aisle.  

Zayn's everywhere, it's as simple as that. But nothing's simple about it. It's more annoying than it is depressing; and sometimes Niall shoves his half-eaten sandwich to the side, plucks the earbuds out of his ears when he's at the park, sucks his teeth when Greg's trying to scold him, because he's so fucking fed up with everything that reminds him of Zayn, which is everything.  

Despite the blatancy that it's _not_ , he stills blames himself. He blames himself for a lot of things, actually. He wakes up and blames himself because the trash is overflowing, because he could've taken it out the day before. He goes home and blames himself because the team lost, because if he stood just a little bit more to the left, they would've won. He washes the clothes and blames himself because he forgot to add Theo's laundry, because now Denise has to do it. He reads and blames himself because he can't grasp what the book's saying, because the words are too big and he doesn't know them. He closes his eyes and blames himself because he led Zayn on, because even though he ignored him and was rude, Niall wouldn't give up; he blames himself because when it comes down to who initiated everything, he only has himself to blame.  

Niall admits to himself he's in love with Zayn when it doesn't matter; though it never mattered.

*

 It's snowing heavily, more heavily than the week before, and the front is covered in snow. Louis' birthday is in a week, and he thinks he should buy him a big gift to apologize for being such an arse. Niall's wearing a tattered green sweater, and his socks are black and thick on his feet. A warm mug is in his hands, but he doesn't like the hot beverage. Greg's not home, and Niall wouldn't let him do it anyway; so he gets up and puts on a big coat, stuffs his pajama pants in Ugg boots that might've belonged to Harry once, and steps outside. It feels good, the wind. It's not harsh, just enough to cool him under the layers of clothes. If he was asked to describe the scenery, he'd say mashed potatoes, or creamy milk, because white snow is covering every surface as far as he can see. It's beautiful, and he's not fond of the snow, or the cold; but he dwells in the feeling for a few minutes as he stands on his doorstep. He likes shoveling, doesn't mind doing it again later when more snow takes its place.  

He's barely started when a silent companion starts shoveling the other side, doesn't look up when someone comes to help him. He doesn't look up when he's obviously done. He doesn't look up when a voice that shouldn't sound so familiar speaks to him. He just continues to shovel, because he needs this focus, always needs some type of focus when it comes to him. "You're welcome?" Zayn asks, gesturing towards the shoveled path. Niall doesn't look up, just puts the fallen strand back into the beanie.  

"Didn't work out last time, now, did it," he sighs, breath turning into steam. It's awkward after that, the moment turns brittle and stale and flakes away in the wind. It's surprises Niall how unaffective he is; he feels fine. He knows he's not, hasn't been in the last few months, but he feels okay; and he feels, more than sees, Zayn's face, the way it's forming itself to look sincere and generous as he's about to explain himself. "Save it," Niall interrupts, lifting a gloved hand and dropping it back down pathetically. He allows himself a moment to breathe in the wind, it's brisk and fresh; times like this remind him to indulge in every moment, that next month he won't inhale this air, next month he won't be standing right here, next month he won't be next to Zayn. Filling his lungs, he looks then, and Zayn's face is. . . well, _angry_.  

"You're the one who left in the morning, Niall!" he screams. He's too loud, too loud for the silent road, too loud for Niall. And Niall doesn't need that, doesn't deserve that. He enjoyed the silence before, and thinks he should've just kept his mouth shut instead of thanking him in the beginning of the year. He doesn't deserve Zayn's glare, and he just wanted the silent wind to warm him; he wanted it, wanted. But Nialls starts to laugh harshly, shakes his head in disbelief because no; no, no, fucking no Zayn's not gonna pull that card. He has the audacity to even show up and the snow's turning red in Niall's vision.  

"I'm not the one who disappeared, Zayn!" he screams. Then suddenly, it becomes real, all of it; how Zayn actually just up and _disappeared_ , as if _none_ of that mattered, as if whatever they had (which was an honest friendship, in Niall's eyes) was a piece of shit. "You're a piece of shit, you know that?" he bites, and he doesn't regret it. Not when Zayn's face burns with _rage_ for _once_ , not when Zayn's trying so hard to bite his tongue that he's close to tears, not when his tan hands tighten into fists by his side. And Niall's having none of it. "Go 'head," he challenges, tilting his dented chin up. "Hit me. Wanna hit me? Go 'head. You'll be no better," he spits. He _wants_ Zayn to hit him, wants Zayn to lift a fist and slam it against his face, or his chest, or his stomach; he just wants an excuse to hit back, and he knows he'll lose, but it's worth it, the contact is worth it. Niall's remark only makes Zayn more angry, and he's screaming, screaming at the top of his lungs and Niall's screaming back, screaming louder, screaming till his voice breaks halfway through. It's to the point he has no idea what Zayn's screaming, but his mouth seems to know and it shoots back something that has Zayn jumping in his own skin. Niall knows if he was anyone else, he'd be a bloody heap on the floor by now, and Zayn might still be bashing his face in. But Zayn's just red, red, _red_ , and he's never been this red and Niall just wants him redder; he wants him red with guilt and regret and _pain_. He wants, and he just wants a lot. Niall wants him mostly, but he doesn't know if he just wants Zayn to fuck him again or kiss his neck or laugh at his stupid joke or gaze down his body, but he just wants; and it makes him redder than the tan man.  

Zayn's screeching now, Niall's groaning in exasperation and would walk away if it meant Zayn would leave, but he knows his stubborn self won't. Out of bottled frustration, he throws the shovel to the floor and Zayn's throwing his across the front so that it skids into the middle of the street. A neighbor comes out then, an old lady with a hunched back, and orders them to be quiet.  

"You shut the fuck up," Zayn barks.  

"What the _fuck_ , Zayn!? You don't say that!" He tries to keep his voice down as he grabs Zayn's arm to turn him back around. But Zayn's already looking down at him with a snarl.  

"You could've said something," he whispers between his teeth, implying about the night at the pub. He's breathing rapidly, not looking away from Niall. Niall realizes he's wearing a new leather jacket, but it has fewer zippers. He switched combats boots for a pair that might've came from Harry's closet, and he's wearing jeans, the dark blue kind. He doesn't look any older, but he's dressed grownup. Niall suddenly feels breathless, because it's only been months and Zayn's changed a bit, or a lot; the stench of cigarette smoke isn't pressed into his clothes anymore. And the blonde boy justs wants to be around for the next phase of varied clothes, and for the next tattoo, and for the next version of the man in front of him; and he feels like he's just been slapped by nails, sharp nails that sank into the skin of his face.  

"And you couldn't, Zayn?" The tan man doesn't answer, but his face calms, and he looks like he doesn't want to be there anymore. Neither does Niall. The blond soon sighs and pinches the skin between his eyes. "I have a headache, what do you want?" he asks. He looks up to find Zayn patting his pockets, and he knows what's coming; he knows Zayn is going to take out that pill of ibuprofen he has in one of his pockets and is going to ask him to take it with milk because it's easier to swallow and-- "Why the _fuck_ are you here, Zayn?" he repeats louder, looking at the ground between them. A prolonged moment of silence follows, Niall counts seven heartbeats and looks up. And he can't keep this in. "What the fuck were you _thinking_?" he admits, hating the way his voice pitches high at the end. "I want an answer. I fucking deserve an answer, all right?" Zayn still cannot bring himself to react, and that only infuriates Niall more. "I never expected a _fucking_ relationship, dammit," he says in a steady tone, so steady it surprises him. "I wasn't asking for anything, but one night. That's it. That was _it_ ," he spits, swallows to calm the growing rawness in his throat. "Look. Zayn," he sighs. "You were a good friend, you were only ever a friend. I'm sorry for initiating that, okay? Just," he trails, unsure how to finish. "It was just a fuck," he lies, hoping Zayn doesn't pick up on the falter in his voice.  

Zayn looks _mortified, on edge_ , like he was told the reason of world damnation is all his fault. He looks intimidated and small, and it takes a few more heartbeats for Niall to connect everything. His mind connects the desperate look on Zayn's face to his timid stance to the way his bones look frozen in place; his chest is barely moving, and he's staring down at Niall, and Niall knows him, knows right before Zayn confesses something, he locks in place and tries to will the words through his eyes or his face or something; just anything that doesn't have him opening his mouth. "Oh, no," he says after another silent moment. Zayn's still quiet, like a hand is wrapped around his throat. "Oh, _no_ ," he repeats, turning around and walking down the path. There's nowhere to go, and if anyone else was around, he'd kill them; or shove them, whatever. But he wants to act, he wants to react and just. . .do something! "Oh my fucking _Christ_ ," he breathes when he comes back and finds Zayn in the same postion. Zayn's looking down at him in fear, and cautiousness, because he can't decipher Niall's expression. "Zayn, what is this about?" he tries again.  

"I'm sorry," he whispers, voicing everything in that one phrase. The wind pushes black strands onto his forehead, and they're still riding the wind as hazel locks with blue, like that one time. It's not enough. It's fucking not enough, and Niall's shaking his head in objection and looks seconds away from punching Zayn.  

"I'm not a fucking baby, _Zayn_ ," he spits. Zayn doesn't respond, and Niall wants to cry. He wants to cry for the first time in weeks. "All right, I've never had a fucking relationship, and I'm naïve, and immature, and fucking annoying," he continues, and Zayn wants to tell him to stop, because it wasn't supposed to go this way; Niall has no reason to put himself down, but something's choking him and he can't look away or speak. "I've never," Niall whispers finally, unsure how else to start; and he licks lips, looks uncomfortable and stares at the ground between them, grabs the top of his arm for some type of central point. "I think I was serious about you," he admits.  

"Don't," Zayn finds the will to say. Niall looks up at him then, holds nothing back and watches as Zayn grows _pale_ in front of him. He grows pale and Niall's never even knew that was possible. He licks his chapped lips again, and continues uncomfortably.  

"I mean, like. I love you, Zayn. That was obvious. I love you like I love Louis or Harry, but. I think I was close to _loving_ you, if I wasn't there already." Zayn takes a sharp breath and Niall continues. "I've never done this before, and," he huffs. "I'm not sure what the fuck love is, so I have nothing to compare it to, but--"  

"Please, Niall," Zayn pleas, begs, prays. "Don't do this." _To me,_ is unspoken, but heard.  

"Don't do what, Zayn? Don't talk? So why the fuck are you here then?" The old lady comes back out again, but Zayn's too preoccupied to say anything; his bottom lip is quivering, it might be from the cold, it might be from the nerves. He doesn't admit. He never admits; not when Niall says things and confesses stuff and swears to tell no one of whatever's on the man's mind. He doesn't admit, never had to, never thought he had to.  

"Look," he chokes out. "I don't want to hurt you, Niall. I don't." He swallows, breathes out steam. "I admit," he confesses, "what I did was wrong, and shitty, and so fucking low of me. Believe me, Niall; I've never felt so low in my life." Niall's rolling his eyes and putting hands in his coat pockets; the wind's picking up. "I don't know why I'm fucking here. I just needed to see you. I swear to God, I've _never_ meant to hurt you," he whispers. "If you have to believe _one_ thing I ever said, believe that I never wanted to hurt you." Niall's suddenly right in front of him, and he puts a hand on Zayn's chest to feel his heart rate; the individual beats are undistinguishable with how fast it's going. "I don't want to hurt you," he forces out.  

"Hmm," Niall hums in thought, chews on his bottom lip. "No, I don't think you can hurt me." He thumps his forehead against the leather jacket before looking up. "I've given you chances before and you didn't." Zayn is still frozen, immobile, looking down at Niall. The blond takes off a glove to cup one side of the sideburn-covered face; it's brittle under his fingertips, and Zayn's not pushing him away. "I kind of hate you," Niall informs him, because it's the truth. He runs a finger down the gaping bottom lip and feels Zayn's intake of breath. "But I still want you around." It's the truth, too. He leans up, leans in, and kisses Zayn, not holding anything back, giving it his all in just the press of lips. Zayn doesn't respond, and Niall backs away timdily. "Shit. Holy fucking shit, did I get this all wrong?" he questions nervously. Zayn grabs him and kisses him, doesn't stop kissing him until he's dizzy with it.

*

 Niall lets Zayn work at his own pace, knows this is new territory for him, realizes how much of an effort Zayn is putting, so he doesn't press; he doesn't need to, anyway. Zayn's doing exceptionally well on his own. "Just don't disappear again," is the only rule Niall establishes; and hidden beneath those words is the notion that even if whatever they have dwindles and fades like a spark, _I don't care for a lot of people and don't want to lose any of them._ Zayn hears it loud and clear.  

The guys meet him a week after that, accidentally, with Niall kissing him goodbye as Zayn's about to leave to pick up something for his sister. "Looks like Nialler's got a boyfriend, after all," chuckles Ashton, the other three following. And Niall freezes and pulls away to look at them, praying to the most merciful deity to help him out. "Who's this?" Ashton continues with a squint in Zayn's direction.  

"Yeah, who's this?" Zayn asks, doesn't look away from the Aussie kid, remembers he was the one who put their arm around Niall that night out of the pub. Niall swallows and literally pales even more in front of them, uttering _guys. . . guys, be nice. This is. . . my boyfriend. Boyfriend?_ He looks up to Zayn for confirmation, getting an answer in his smile. _Yeah, boyfriend. Boyfriend, meet Luke, Calum, Ashton, and Michael,_ he answers in order. And it's only when Calum asks for a name, does hell break loose.  

It could've been anyone of them, really. But it had to be Calum, no-filter Calum, _if-I-ever-meet-him-I-swear-to-god-I'm-stabbing-a-fucking-hammer-through-his-throat_ Calum. And Niall doesn't think of that day, tries not to think of the few days of class that followed, but it's all erased now. They don't accept him, they tolerate him, like the little sibling you have no choice but to watch over for the night.  

It's Zayn's birthday, and Niall gifts him with his first given blowjob, more teeth at first than anything. He does come wrecklessly soon enough, and he tries to count that as a plus, but he can't bring himself to. And Zayn sees this, kisses him breathlessly until Niall almost falls with the failing of knees, and whispers _you didn't need to give me anything, you never have to give me anything more_. And when he looks up and sees the gathered snowflakes sticking to his windowpane, he's stuck with the realization it's been a year.  

It's Valentine's Day, and after being informed that morning Niall was going to be busy with exams, he doesn't expect to come home later that day with said boy in his kitchen, the ripe smell of strawberries and melted chocolate in the air. "What are you doing?" he asks flatly. Only then does Niall turn around like he's been caught, the brown substance sticking to his cheek and a knife in his hands as he was cutting the fruit. Then the boy groans, stomps his feet and turns away, muttering _you weren't supposed to come home yet fuck this went way better in my head._  

And Zayn tries to keep a straight face, walks up behind his blue-eyed boy and inhales the scent in his hair; the mess around them gives away a special treat Niall was trying to make for him. He takes this opportunity, smiles down at the unknowing Niall in front of him, and in minutes, he's rimming him for the first time, tasting him in such a way for the first time, tastes the chocolate syrup and strawberries he placed along the crevice, revels in the unclipped high-pitched noises of his boyfriend, doesn't stop till he comes in his own pants at Niall's oversensitivity and jolts, not the least bit ashamed. And he stands up to peer over at the blond's face, blotched red with redder lips smiling taking in breaths. "Best Valentine ever," he huffs. _First Valentine ever_ , Zayn thinks.  

They're a few months in and Zayn's making Niall his signature homemade pizza, with dough thick enough and cheese melted enough and all of the blond's favorite toppings. Niall doesn't have a clue, he's studying in the living room with Blind Melon in the background, intent on reading at least half the assigned chapter before he drifts off into the kitchen. He's almost done when Zayn strolls in, woman physique-adorned apron on and a long, flat pan in one hand, cans of soda in the other. "What's that?" Niall's able to ask before the man kisses him lightly, sets the pan of pizza on the table with an air of ease and tells him that it's a special dish of his, that it's all for Niall. And he's three slices in, moaning at the greatness of it and says, "Best Boyfriend ever." And Zayn comes to the realization. _First Boyfriend ever_.  

Niall and Harry are stupid, Zayn and Louis agree, always agreed, because nothing else is more true on most days. And today's no exception, with both of them having their own gallon of Turkey Hill's Pomegranate Lemonade. The older of both couples haven't a clue how it started, in all honesty. But now the blond and the curly-haired lad face each other, bet who can drink the whole gallon without throwing up. They add alcohol, to enhance the level of liquid-absorption and make it more fun, more daring, which is _what's in_ , they say. They're both half-drunk, half-done the gallon each, swaying in their seats. Harry looks glassy-eyed and tries not to blink slowly. Niall's mouth hangs open and he timidly grabs the container to pour another cup when Zayn grabs his hand. "No," he orders, because he knows one more drop of liquid into the blue-eyed boy's body and he's going to topple over and heave until his stomach is empty. But Niall doesn't listen, never listens, and three drinks later, he's rushing to the bathroom, unable to lock the door on time before he's retching into the toilet.

"I don't think you want to see this," he croaks, familiar with the warmth of the presence behind him. But Zayn doesn't respond, just sighs and keeps the hair off his forehead, rubs his back as it arches with another unload. His boy's sick the next day, only has enough energy to clean himself up and drop onto the sofa, red blanket around his frame with a redder nose. He sleeps most of the day, wakes up to Zayn next to him watching _Juno_ and a tan hand massaging his bad knee. He tries to tell his boyfriend he doesn't have to stay here, that he can go to the mall, or do anything, for that matter; he knows he's not the greatest company at the moment. But Zayn looks over to him, doesn't say anything, and smiles just enough that Niall understands. _I'd rather be here than anywhere else_.  

Zayn goes to class with Niall one day. It's a simple English course he's forced to take and a class Zayn loves; he loves literature, loves the different shapes and personas and colors and thoughts it gives him. And he's sitting idly by Niall's side, arm around pale shoulders and initially focused on the professor who's explaining an excerpt of Gary Soto's _A Summer_ _Life_ when a brunette keeps eyeing him from the other side of the room. He tightens his arm around Niall who's oblivious, keeps sending glares his way, but the short brunette doesn't look the _fuck away_. And only after class does he realize the guy was staring at Niall the whole time. "Who the fuck is that?" he says in clear earshot of the guy who's making his way over to Niall. And Niall knows what's going to happen before it does, because Josh doesn't have a leash on his tongue, and Zayn doesn't hold back. "I don't want you around him," Zayn says when they're in the car after the tensional scene.  

"Sucks, then. We're on the football team together." Zayn glares over at him and Niall doesn't look away. It's bitter, the rest of the drive. And they argue when they get to Zayn's. It's uncalled for, highly unnecessary, Zayn doesn't shut the _fuck_ up. And Niall regrets telling him Josh was interested a few weeks back. "I don't like him," he says calmly when it seems like Zayn's not above throwing the stack of Tattoo magazines across the room. "I'm not ever going to, okay? If I didn't like him before, I'm not gonna like him now." It's more than enough to calm the tan man down, more than enough to make him apologize for how stupid he was. But Niall knows he's embarrassed, doesn't comment, just fondly throws a pillow at his face. He misses by a long shot, and it makes Zayn reluctantly laugh.  

Though they know each other profusely, they learn so much more.  

Niall learns Zayn doesn't like Peanut Butter. It's a day he makes him a PB & J sandwich, with a dash of cinnamon on the bread and an abundance of love, and he watches Zayn eat it, tries to eat it, _really_ tries until he stops halfway and gags out empty air. He tells Niall an interesting tale of the time Safaa had the dark beige substance all over her hands and face; he was nine at the time, and had to clean her up. And it was a disgusting half hour of trying to take it out her hair and the stench and just mass of it was everywhere and it haunts him till this day. Niall stifles a laugh throughout the whole confession.  

Zayn learns Niall has asthma one night the blond's sucking his dick. And he's good, is the thing. If Zayn was thinking straight, he'd be skeptical with how good he is. But he's _not_ thinking straight, which is why he unconsciously pushes down the back of Niall's head, doesn't stop until he feels past the back of his throat; and the blond takes it at first, tries to submit and hunches his back, but after a while he recoils and pushes away to breathe deeply. It takes a laborous effort to breathe, and Zayn gets nervous, curses himself, pulls the frazzled boy onto his lap and asks what's wrong, but Niall only inhales enough air to not pass out. It only clicks a few minutes later when Niall wheezes out he might've been having an attack. "Which is weird," he continues after swallowing water. "Haven't had one in years, sorry." And Zayn sits there until _You fucking have asthma?!_  

Niall learns how devoted Zayn is to his family the first time he meets them. It's one of Zayn's younger cousin's birthday. And Zayn's introducing him to everyone before he leaves him with the kids to grab his parents. The kids, Niall presumes are the cousins, look up at Niall with intrigued expressions before one of them chirps, "My friend in school says two boys dating isn't normal." And Niall leans down amicably, smiles all crinkly-eyed and retorts pleasantly, "Well I have a friend in school who said kids who speak when they're not asked isn't normal, either." Zayn catches him, grabs his arm and tells him that's not how to talk to children, and he's angry throughout their heated discussion when Waliyha comes over, eyes Niall up and down.  

"So," she starts with a smirk, "is this the boy you've tried to stay away from?" Zayn stutters, grows red and his sister nods in recognition. "He must be a good one. I like him already." And Niall and her hit it off instantly, converse until Zayn pulls him away softly to meet someone else.  

"I like her," Niall says. "Can we keep her?"  

"That's my little sister. Respect."  

"Would she be opposed to a threesome?" he jokes. "Or incest? Because you two are--"  

"What the fuck is your problem?" Zayn hushes to him, anger in all of his features. It makes Niall babble incoherently, tries to explain it was a joke, all of it. Zayn just sighs, says, "Forget it. C'mon. My parents want to meet you." His mom is nice, so so friendly that it takes a moment for Niall to get used to it. But his father sizes him up instantly, gives him a once-over, and the blond feels like he's physically shrinking under his glare.  

"So," he voices, clears his throat. " _This_ is him." Zayn puts an arm around his boy, doesn't break eye contact with his father.  

"Yeah, and he's gonna be around for a while." Niall learns he's just as devoted to him as well.  

Zayn learns that this is all new territory for Niall, too; that he's just as new to this and doesn't know what to do, in every way possible. And that makes everything more worth it.  

They fuck, a lot. They do make love, occasionally, but they like fucking, love fucking. And it's always great, it's phenomenal and amazing and mind boggling. But this time, it's different, it's on the verge of desperation.  

They don't make it to Zayn's bed; he takes Niall on all fours at the foot of it, and Niall's barely hanging on. He pushes against the bedframe to push more against Zayn, scratches down the sheets for lack of anything else to do, and he needs to do something. The flesh of his arse hurts more than the abused muscle that Zayn's taking advantage of, and his prostate hurts more than anything else. But he only asks for more, hopes that's what he's saying around the moans and cries. And his pleas are answered when Zayn snaps his hips rougher, sharper, and the pleasure is eating him alive, it's sinking its teeth down his spine and he can't keep his eyes open and his dick is leaking with so much precome it's a wonder how he didn't come yet. Zayn's fucking him like he's angry, like this is the only suitable way he's able to express just how angry he is. And Niall doesn't want it any other way. He wants to come so bad, but he doesn't want this to end, doesn't want this to ever stop, and that makes him cry. How great it is, how fucking perfect he feels. And he thinks he can't feel any better until Zayn leans down over him and whispers in his ear.  

"Love you," he says, more like whimpers. And he doesn't stop pounding into him. It's the first time he said it, and that makes Niall clench his eyes shut, clench around Zayn and lets his orgasm take over. "Love you so fucking much," he says as he strokes Niall through it, decides to slow down now. He says it like it wasn't monumental the first time, like saying it once wasn't enough for him. When they make it to the bed afterwards, too hot to put clothes on, Niall rests his head on Zayn's chest. _Say it again_ , he whispers. "I love you," he says immediately, and he thought he would be scared saying it, admitting it, confessing it. But he feels good, he feels like he's doing something right. And it's answered when Niall giggles and kisses his face; his nose, his forehead and cheeks, and when he kisses his lips he presses them together repeatedly, doesn't stop, not even when Zayn grumbles fondly.

*

 It's August, and Louis and Harry are arguing over which movie to put on. Niall's on the phone with Greg, sitting on Zayn's lap and chewing his fingernail nervously. Zayn sees Louis win the argument, resulting in _Battleship_ being played, and he hears Greg's voice through the phone. _Niall, you're coming home early tonight. Until you're on your own, you're living under my rules_. _Don't give me that crap. I don't care if you slept over Zayn's last weekend or this weekend you just_ \-- and Niall's cutting him off respectfully and begging because he doesn't tell this to a soul, but he doesn't want Zayn to get fed up with him and he doesn't want to give him a reason to cheat; and Zayn knows this, and it makes him smile with _feeling_ , something he was lacking before the boy perched on his lap. He makes Niall look at him and mouths _it's okay, baby. Next time, promise_. And Niall just sighs and listens to the rest of Greg's whine and hangs up, resting his head on Zayn's shoulder. "I'm sorry my brother's an ass."  

"I'm sorry your brother doesn't like me," he jokes. It's true. Greg barely tolerated Zayn before; now he hates him. And he doesn't blame him.  

"No, he doesn't not like you," Niall says, raising his head and looking out the window. "He hates you, actually."  

"Well, thanks," Zayn laughs, poking Niall's side. The boy giggles, flinching into himself and flashing a bright, metal smile. He didn't want braces, and neither did Zayn (it was a kink that he had between Niall and him that he _loved_ running his tongue over his teeth, over the crooked front teeth), but it was mandatory. It's kind of cute, when Niall smiles and tries to stop it. He tolerates them, except for the rare times they make contact with his dick when Niall tries to give him a blowjob. Niall's already looking at him when he comes back into focus, and he's smiling; he moves to kiss the blond in greeting, only stopping when Louis comments.  

"Babe, is it me or do you hear wedding bells?" Harry's answering snicker is annoying.  

"Hey!" Zayn warns. "You're in no position to talk. It's way too early for us, anyway."  

"Can we have a big wedding?" Niall beams, grasping his attention. He's sighing in annoyance, but Niall prattles on about having his friends perform, and how it's going to be outside next to that pond they went to. And they're going to dance to _Sofa_ whether Zayn likes it or not, and _I want a whole speech about me so start using your smart brain to come up with something that makes me cry_. And he continues.  

Zayn's not as annoyed after a while; he's more in love, if anything.


End file.
